


Sit.

by valeriavionics



Category: Dreamtale - Fandom, Killertale - Fandom, Undertale, Underverse - Fandom, Xtale - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bombs, Collars, Cross Speaks Spanish, Emotional Manipulation, Fake Aftercare, Gaslighting, Graphic Description of Corpses, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Language Barrier, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Multi, Neglect, Nightmare Speaks Spanish, Panic Attacks, Pet Play, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Humiliation, Terrorism, emotional torture, forced pet play, humans as pets, leash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeriavionics/pseuds/valeriavionics
Summary: Based on one of my drawings in my socials with a collared Anon and Nightmare, with a slightly darker twist.
Relationships: Killer Sans/Reader, Nightmare sans/reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, friends are a powerful source of motivation even if I should be focusing on YMTR ;v;

**“Siéntate y no te muevas.”**

You sit down at the feet of the throne, knees uncomfortably shifting on the cold, stony floor, searching for comfort. He doesn’t make you do this often, there’s usually a pillow or at least a matt waiting for you, but this time he looks like he can’t be bothered with such a little detail. And who are you to question him?

Once you obey, he takes a seat on his throne, shifting to cross his leg over the other, and you immediately move to rest your chin over his knee, starring at the mouth of the throne room as the other skeleton residents started to pour in. They gather at the table one by one, taking their usual spots without making a show of greeting each other, before beginning their meeting with patient silence.

The throne is raised above the table by several stairs, so you regularly have the height advantage over the others, and that makes you feel extremely smug. Even like this, on your knees, thick and heavy collar around your neck, lowered like an animal, you’re the only one who can sit close to him, the only one he allows to be at his feet.

You receive a pet on the head for your quick compliance, you guess. Either that or for the emotions you display for him, unafraid, trusting. The danger and knowledge he might use it against you is nagging in the back of your mind, and there it remains, dormant.

You have no reason to panic now; you’re completely and utterly safe.

They speak a language of sounds and melodies, an idiom you’ve never been able to understand even before you’d been taken in the castle. So far you could only associate tones to their moods, and few names of the crew, but you’ll never be able to recreate them. Despite how easy it might sound to imitate a few beeps with rhythm, you’re sure you’d just end up saying something stupid.

The only way you’d been able to communicate with him was through another language- which was, surprisingly, Spanish. You don’t remember much from your classes in your old home, but it wasn’t as hard compared to understanding the monster language.

If he wanted you to sit, he’d say “siéntate”, if he wanted you to stand up, he’d say “párate”. Up, down, right and left also became a part of your daily learning ~~training~~ routine.

They were very simple commands and he was extremely patient with you, and when it came to learning your new name and his, you had the honor to bask in his prideful smirk when you could react and respond accordingly.

You go lax the more he pets you, tuning out whatever conversation they were having in favor of basking in the attention he allowed himself give you.

There’s a new member in the group that catches your eye- a black and white dressed skeleton, sitting with the posture of someone with too many years weighting on their shoulders. He was looking at you, mismatched lights dilating for a fraction of a second, scar under his socket squinting suspiciously, before shrinking with what you identified as thickly layered judgment.

…You’re very aware this isn’t a position a self-respected human would find themselves in. You had fought so much, _stars_ , you had fought yourself to exhaustion, until you could no longer take it physically, emotionally and mentally.

Days and nights, weeks and months, all you could remember of those times was pain and nightmares and so much _loneliness_ , crushing onto your growing, fragile soul. The only thing that came to comfort you from the memories of your cruel imprisonment was Nightmare. He took the pain away; like he took _everything_ away from you.

From then on, it was better, easier, to follow his orders rather than fighting- because as you found out the hard way- Nightmare’s patience towards something he wanted was immeasurable.

You’ve never prided yourself in your ego or determination, anyways.

After a second, you smile haughtily at him, fluttering your eyelashes innocently before leisurely rubbing your cheek on the dark skeleton’s hard patella, watching in satisfaction as the noisy monster’s sockets widen in shock… and maybe even a little disgust.

Your pleased hum was not privy to Nightmare, who yanked your collar twice with a smooth tentacle twice in warning, before returning his attention back to the conversation. His voice was his usual smug- though now, it has a hint of tease that makes the monochromatic skeleton gawk and sputter.

The others laugh raucously at him, making the poor man sink onto his seat and turtleneck until only his sockets were visible. Nightmare tugged at you collar again, shoulders bouncing with malicious laughter, before a single order was mouthed.

**“Arriva.”**

You stand up on your feet quickly, slightly crutching due to the weight of the tentacle and the ache of your joints, waiting patiently for the next command. Anxiety seeps under your skin coolly, unpleasant tingles that Nightmare absorbs from you, fingers tapping on the throne armrest, grin hitching wider as he jerks his skull towards the newbie.

**“Ve.”**

He lets go off your collar, allowing you to bounce down the stairs with decision, even as the newcomer tensed up and visibly bristled at your approach. However, when he snarled at you, just mere feet away from his position on the chair, you did pause to look at your owner with uncertainty.

**“Siéntate.”**

Your confusion doubles, and it takes you a few seconds to hesitantly scoot at newbie’s feet and begin to squat down to sit on the floor, but Nightmare makes a disgruntled noise that makes you freeze.

**“Arriva, siéntate arriva.”**

Oh _… oh!_

You yank the monster’s chair back forcefully, eliciting a startled squeak from him, before sitting down on his bony lap, and you practically hear the inward screaming inside his head, observe the way his mouth peels back in an attempt to snarl.

You’re looking at Nightmare still, feeling pleased with yourself when seeing the satisfied smile on his face. You’ve done a good job.

Immediately, the skeleton trapped under your butt tries to shove you off, bucking his pelvis and digging his pointy phalanges into your cheek and hip, yelling incoherently at the other monsters laughing at him rather than at you. You whine and struggle back, clinging onto his sweater and arm, watching in fascination and slight pain as color flooded his cheekbones, a warm violet that didn’t quite match him.

Nightmare barked something at him that made his entire body stiffen, face melting from outraged embarrassment to hard apathy, and eventually removed his hands from you to the table, his face now set in a hard grimace of obvious incommodity. You weren’t any better, his femurs were digging into your arse and it made it cramp a little, he was bony and too small for you to sit on, joints pinching your skin.

Monochrome stuttered a few beeps in a calmer tone, apparently directed at Nightmare, because he looked contemplative for a moment, before shrugging, smile wide and taunting.

**“Ve a Matón.”**

This time, you gladly remove yourself from Monochromatic's lap, a smile playing on your lips as you approached the next directed skeleton, Killer, who received you with that spooky smile and open arms. He was one of your personal favorites; he treated you okay, was the most physically affectionate and snuck out snacks for you. You think it’s the hair he likes, but hey, who are you to judge?

He doesn’t make you work for it, doesn’t fight you off, he just lets you sit between his legs and lean back on him, his hand coming up to pet your scalp. It’s instant relaxation for you, and so you allow yourself you ignore the rest of the meeting, enjoying Killer’s more skilled fingers as they practically bully you into a sleepy daze.

All too soon, the meeting comes to an end, and Killer gently pushes you off of him to gather with the rest, patting your now messy hair twice before abandoning you. You’re not alone enough to feel disappointed, though. The next second there’s a tentacle wrapped around the platinum ring of your collar, and you’re led towards the exit behind Nightmare.

He was visibly in a better mood after the meeting, something that wasn’t common nowadays. He and the crew were outside the castle most of the time, and recently they had been returning with sour looks of defeat and anger- so it was a good thing something was going their way for once.

This was a relief for you, given that you were the one who paid the price for Nightmare’s relaxation at night time.

The darkest of the skeletons pushed the doors of what you immediately recognized as his work studio, pausing in front of one the many shelves aligned across the room, before grabbing a single, simple, leather-covered book, plopping down on his big desk chair, your collar gently being tugged to sit down at your usual ~~dog bed~~ pillow. Watching as he pulled out a fancy calligraphy pen and got to work, you slouched on the pillow, knowing this was going to take at least a few hours.

Nightmare always did stuff like this with you around, almost making you die of boredom as you served as company during his work hours.

You frown. His reasons for bringing you had been unclear from the beginning, and even now that you’ve spent quite some time in the castle. When he ~~kidnapped~~ brought you into a cold, hard cell, you were sure he was going to do terrible things to you- like you’d seen in your old home.

Those were memories you’d rather keep repressed in the back of your head, but the terror in the air had been palpable, almost breathable, the smell of smoke and the sound of screams, all those people disturbed from their routines running away from a force pushing back. You were there among them, this is a fact, but sometimes it’s so, so hard to remember, why can’t you-?

Your teeth grind under the pressure of your jaw, hands gripping the plush bedding until your knuckles pale and bones creak in protest. A single violent shudder wrecks your frame, and suddenly you’re much more aware of the suffocating aura the skeleton in the room give off, like a bolt of cold electricity that kept you on the edge of panic. It was almost alive, a shiver on your neck, tempted to shove you over that delicate cliff tilting towards hopelessness.

_What were you doing? Why are you sitting here doing nothing? Why aren’t you fighting? Why are you accepting being his little, complaint, stupid pet?_

You need to get up. You have to run. Didn’t you remember what he’s done to you? What he’ll do to you over and over, until you’re nothing but an empty puppet he could discard whenever he felt like it?

_Fight, scream, do something-_

…As quick as those thoughts came in your head, they vanished upon the arrival of an eerie calmness. You absently noted, midst the thick cloud of apathy and forced passiveness, that one of Nightmare’s tentacles had wrapped itself around your ankle. It pulled at your leg gently, almost like a gas pump, taking something from you…something…something bad, something you _didn’t_ want.

He wasn’t even looking at you, solely focused on his task, unbothered by having to do both things at the same time, but you were still glad he was so kind to help.

You were so grateful; you had moments like these every so often, but the only thing that truly matters is that Nightmare is always there to make you feel better. You don’t know what you’d do without him.

Resting your head on a pillow while the tendril was removed from you, you thought about how lucky you were that Nightmare has taken you in with a smile. So lucky that the other residents accepted you and treated you so well.

You were truly _so lucky_.


	2. Stand Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated for this chapter, safe reading!

Nightmare has very little to be proud of in his life, even knowing he was building an empire, keeping his side of the multiverse balance… it seemed that everything leading to this moment was withering in contrast to his ambitions.

Ultimately, he knew what he wanted; multiple universes succumbing into darkness, providing him with enough power to imprison his brother again, to dominate timelines and decide their fate. He wanted the power of a god, of a _Creator_. The complete destruction of Aus wouldn’t benefit him at all in the long run- that was one of the reasons he and Error could never reach a mutual understanding- and truly, he needed that little bit of positivity in the mix.

People needed hope before they could give up, like a lure that led directly to well of delicious failure and hopelessness. They needed laughter; they needed love just so it could be violently ripped from their grasp. If Nightmare wanted to succeed, he needed Dream’s power to continue existing, diminished, but still alive so those emotions wouldn’t die.

And hey, Nightmare wasn't completely heartless; if misery ran along with the multiverse for so long, it wouldn’t take long for the residents to evolve and block it out, die, or lose their emotions altogether. He knew his limits.

And then…

Then he thinks back to when things were different, the times of a child playing and taking care of his brother, to when that brother wakes up from imprisonment to look completely betrayed, to the times that brother screamed at him that he had to stop.

That they could go back to how it was.

But it'll be worth it in the end; when the holds victory over Dream's head, when he's the supreme ruler of the multiverse, unstoppable even for Creators.

Nightmare grins, stacking up papers into a neat pile, putting away his pen, and standing from his desk. There’s the chime of his phone that immediately catches his attention, but he doesn’t need to read the text to know what’s going on.

They were ready to assault another unfortunate universe and bleed it of all the negativity it could offer for a few years, as well as supplies and anything his subordinates might need or want. It was a pretty big event they couldn’t afford to mess up, time was essential for the operation and Dream was exceptionally fast, Ink was persistent and too strong, and while Blue was nothing special by himself, he often proved to be more troublesome in the company of the other pests.

If he wanted the plan to succeed he’d have to be present to supervise, as his followers got too excitable when given free rein and tended to fuck things over. By pairs, he could handle, but as a group, they enabled each other's violence, and a simple 30-minute job could easily expand to three hours of fending his brother off.

Pocketing the device, the king slips under a puddle of his own goop, and after a second of cold, dark nothingness of the void, there’s a stream of warm sunlight greeting him on the other side, barely slipping through the alleyway the gang was hiding at.

His presence was immediately acknowledged by Killer, with an empty smile and a nod of his skull towards the busy street occupied by humans and monsters alike. Horror and Dust were clinging onto the wall corners like guard dogs, the only indication that they’d noticed him being a wave of a hand.

 **“10 kills per each one of you, understood? I don’t care if it’s at random, don’t overdo it.”** His voice carried a purposeful threat, reminding the others this was a quick get in-get out-mission. He was replied with grunts and eager bodily wiggling, and Nightmare scowled.

The lack of discipline in his little troop never ceased to annoy him, yet he tolerated it with a lot of willpower. The satisfaction of feeding off their night terrors and the discord caused by said disrespect- not just towards him, but to each other as well, made up for most of the trouble they caused. Fights he never bothered to break down satiated a midnight thirst he didn’t know was there back when it was just him.

Still, it wasn’t enough. Compared to the amount of positivity-ruled universes, they were just pestering the peace temporarily before the world started resetting, the rush of negativity only lasting a few days, or if he was lucky, a few weeks.

He would need to act soon and attack multiple Aus at the same time, and that would require more recruits- which were hard to find given his reputation and the number of demands that came with it.

**“Activate the bombs, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back.”**

* * *

People were screaming, running, bleeding, and limping away from downtown, many carrying acquaintances and strangers alike, a distant sound of a child crying out for their mom, lost in the wind. The crowd nearly tramples itself, stirred like livestock by another explosion, diverting it towards the main street in a rumpus of near-animalistic panic.

A clammy, cold hand grips your own in a bruising hold, allowing you to lead it through the multitude, yanking the owner to the sides in hopes to find refuge inside one of the many shops on the street. It’s impossible with all the pushing and running, and you can feel yourself being ushered violently towards the center.

You look back at her, searching in her face for any signs of injury, but your attention is ultimately drawn to her face, the terror engraved on her soft features. It’s wrong, everything is wrong and you cry inwardly when you have to yank her arm to get her closer, that expression contorting into pain. It’s so wrong and you can’t do anything to change it.

Swallowing your fear feels like swallowing coal, mustering the courage to smile at her. Even though you are just as petrified as she was, you reassure her with a grin that you’d do anything to keep her safe, to ensure this would become a bad memory one day, that you two will live. For one blissfully moment, everything goes silent, free of all the screaming, the roar of fire and sirens in the air is deafened as she weakly smiles back, squeezing your hand, and you know everything was going to be alright.

She starts to say something, you can’t hear her but she’s carefully mouthing it;

_I need you to_ -

A man slams his body against yours, screaming on top of his lungs a name, raw, desperate, and your hands part in such a way that your knuckles pop painfully, frame skidding on the pavement for a painful second before you're packed down under an eternity of feet. You’re kicked and stomped on; no amount of curling your body helping to minimize the damage.

There’s a sudden shift on the ground, a violent gust of scorching hot wind that sends people flying off several yards, sparring your body from the further onslaught, but evidently, the roar of fire and the abrupt silence of the masses was dreadfully telling. You’re too scared to look up, every fiber of your being screaming at you to stay still, to wait for help.

_You have to find her_.

Eyes blinking open, you’re met with the sight of a plethora smoldered of bodies sprawled across the street, some unmoving, but many were crying and wailing in agony, yelling out names and begging for help. More people were running with the rest that managed to avoid the explosion, but none of them stopped to assist the fallen ones, focused on their own survival.

You hope that she did the same.

Rolling your body into a sitting position, you struggle to force yourself to get up, coughing up spittle and blood, swatting away the smoke hanging in the air, grabbing your apparently dislocated arm up, eye shut from a hearty kick you received in the face.

You call out for her.

Nobody answers.

You limp towards one of the busted shops, fire around, blocking your path. You keep walking, focusing on the floor, trying to look for her, hopefully, she's injured and not…not…

You see a pile of dust with her dirtied sweater on top, filthy, and stepped on carelessly. Nobody seems to realize that they’re being led into a trap, like scared sheep running straight to a pack of wolves. They’re stupid and you feel pained and disconnected from the situation, blinking back tears of realization that she hadn’t made it, she was like them, stupid.

She left you.

People are bumping into your shoulder and it’s disgusting, they’re mellow, sitting on the back of their own head while they let panic drive them away, while you’re right there…aware and _pissed_.

So you start limping towards the opposite direction of the crowd, anger slowly rising and ill intent to destroy all of the mindless, the reckless, and then, the cause of all this chaos. You’ve never quite felt like this, airs of your neck stand on end the more you walk forward, ignoring the bewildered stares of the people running away. The more you approach the persecutors, the more you feel your mind slipping, desperately clinging onto the image of her, and not her dust.

Heat rises from the pavement to your legs, each step feeling like walking in wet cement, scorching your skin, your mind, and eventually, your Soul.

You feel a surge of unexpected will pushing you up, and the last thought you have is about how disgusting the world was.

You Stand Up.

* * *

A mage rose from the crowd, a brilliant star of anguished, corrupted intent that Nightmare was able to sense right away, squinting at the smoke as light filtered through the curtain of debris and tactile, animalistic panic.

It was always a possibility one of the alternate universes he decided to attack had unique timelines, so it was purely consequential they had stumbled upon one with magic-wielding humans. It didn’t affect his plans, though. This was just one mage, and the fact that no one else in the city had taken a stance against them suggested they might be scarce, or even extinct. Nightmare had hundreds of years to practice and master his skills; a measly little inexperienced human was something even Horror could deal with.

Still, he beckoned Killer to his side as the mage approached, fighting stance ready as the king simply watched with mild interest.

They were roughed up all over, an unsuspecting, wounded person with magic; most likely awaken by panic and fear. It brought him more confidence knowing this wasn't a hero or a savior for specifically these kinds of situations, but a victim of circumstances that were there at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Raw, unfiltered power seeped through their veins in unnatural light, a static taste in the air signaling they were preparing themselves to launch an attack. Dust and debris disturbed, the energy gathering was unstable, unorganized, like a small child learning to make their first attack, only on a larger scale. This was the clear signature of a newfound mage with no control over their magic or their intent.

And this one, in particular, had a strong intent to bring vengeance down on the city.

Their head jerked back, throwing their face up to the sky as they unleashed an unholy sound and suddenly-

Nightmare was thrown off his feet faster than he could react, back smashing into one of the many destroyed buildings before he slid into a puddle of inky darkness once he flopped to the ground.

At that point, only dirt was rising as more ruins scattered across the street, but with a little distance put between him and the mage, he could assess the situation better.

And he was met with absolute destruction. The humans and monsters that had managed to get away from his subordinate’s impulsive bombing were dead, corpses unrecognizable and dust piles mingling together, buildings were cleanly rooted out of their original spots.

This wasn’t the work of someone protecting the innocent- it was a weapon of mass destruction gone berserk. They had turned a popular, prosperous city into a mass grave by a nod of their head, within _seconds_.

He had survived the blast solely because he had fed enough fear to, but he didn’t know if any of the others pulled through it.

What he _did_ know was that whatever this petty little human was, he could _weaponize_ it, he could use it, and then…then who could stop him?

With a grin, he slips into their mind easily, drawn by the pain, the wrath, and the grief that readily opens the door for him- and the mage collapses not a second later, forced into a slumber.

Strong of will, but so frail of mind.

Nightmare picks it up with a few tendrils, watching in genuine surprise as Killer and Dust, with Horror leaning on both of them, come from the smoke, severely harmed and visibly hanging by sheer will to keep living.

Killer eyes the unconscious human with frigid scrutiny, but it’s not as chilling as his next words strike with precise certainty, “we gonna keep them?”

The king smiles, thinking that he is fortunate for running into a good, unused, unshaped tool in their time of need, a little diamond in the rough, a miserable creature in need of a purpose.

 **“it”** he corrects, **“i’m going to keep it.”**

How lucky they are that he can provide exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I might've given in to the call of angst and manipulation but I SWEAR I'm working on YMTR!


End file.
